


Paint You Wings

by oh_ms_omegalomaniac



Category: All Time Low
Genre: Angst, Death, History, M/M, Past, Plotless, Sadness, all time low - Freeform, im sorry for even writing this thing, its gonna be terrible, just mentions of it, meaningless, not really non con, paint you wings, pretty damn stupid, slavery stuff i guess, um, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_ms_omegalomaniac/pseuds/oh_ms_omegalomaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jack is a monster...</p><p> </p><p>... and Alex is an artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint You Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short and rather messed-up drabble.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is only based on existing real people- it is a work of fiction and is about characters who resemble real people. Please don't harass any real people or friends/relatives of real people about shipping.

I was a pawn in all of your plans, you kept me busy  
Locked behind your chamber doors when you felt frisky  
Until you got sick of me

I was never good enough to be anything but remedy  
To all of your constant pressing needs  
And I never learned, so.

 

He has to keep his eyes cast downward. It took him so damn long to learn that- the first rule of being a slave. Simplest thing and he still has to fight the impulse to let his eyes flick up for a moment. Surely they wouldn't see-

Alex's eyes hardly get to take in the handler in front of him before a heavy blow to the back of his head shocks him. 

What have I gotten myself into, he wonders. 

He never should have run away. It was better at the house- sure, it was full of yelling brothers and screaming father and crying mother and silent sisters- but at least he wasn't a fucking slave. 

The traders had found him wandering the streets of Rome and upon finding out he was alone, knocked him out and must've dragged his body away somewhere because he woke up with the heavy chains around his wrists.

Maybe his new Master would take them off? 

Probably not. 

"Here he is, sir. All yours." 

"Thank you."

Alex feels the chains jolt and he begins to walk again. The voice, presumably of his Master, is crisp and cold. Probably not a good sign.

It feels like they walk for hours although Alex is already exhausted from the 'training'. Asshole handlers need demure boys to sell, Alex was a fiery one- that didn't end well for him.

He feels like all of his fire is gone, extinguished. 

 

Maybe they arrive, but all Alex thinks about is that he can stop walking. His feet are bare and the soles feel like they are burning and he almost cries with relief when he's pushed into a bedroom chamber of some sort and given some water. The door slams shut behind him but he hardly notices, so happy to finally quench his thirst and rest his feet. 

"Slave." 

The single word jolts Alex out of his joy and he starts, scared brown eyes finding a tall man with dark hair. The man is dressed in regal garb; that of the rich, Alex thinks. This would be his Master.

"Yessir?"

"And what is your name?"

"Alexander, sir."

The man stares down at him with mixed emotions showing in his eyes- is that disgust Alex sees there? Disgust... and something else that sends cold fear trickling down his spine. 

 

His Master's name is Jack, Alex finds out. He hears a woman shout it and he's so relieved that the man is leaving him alone. 

"You will reside here."

The dark-haired man stalks out of the room and Alex collapses onto the floor. He isn't spending any more time than he has to in that evil, stupid bed. No. 

Staggering a little, Alex drags himself up and walks over to the bathroom. He has no idea whether he's allowed to be in here but he needs something to drink, needs to splash his face and calm down. 

This is your life now, he tells himself. Your life and your fault. 

 

The days are a blur. He'll pace the room when he's alone, having given up on finding an escape route long ago. Food is brought to him every morning and afternoon. 

The nights are what he fears, though. The days may be boring and stressful and full of worry- but the nights are the worst.

Jack hasn't tried to talk to him until today. He's been silent since the first day. The man walks into the room, late at night, tired and sweaty and smirking as usual, but does something a little different. He talks to the slave.

"How long have you been a servant?"

Alex doesn't even know how to respond. He doesn't think that he's spoken since he's first day here- he screams, yes, sometimes, but never spoken actual words.

"Um, not long sir. Uh, y-you are my f-f-first Master, sir." 

He's never stuttered before in his life and a tiny shred of shame penetrates his little bubble of fear and misery. 

"I can tell. You aren't very good at the eye thing." 

Alex immediately trains his eyes on the carpet and stutters an apology, berating himself again and again. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"S-sorry sir." 

Shrugging, his master pulls off his tunic and falls in to the lavish bed, sighing slightly. 

"Do you ever wish you could just run away? Get away from everything?"

Rage brings a little courage and Jack speaks up to answer the clearly rhetorical question. How dare his Master wish to run away, when he has a perfectly good life and isn't a fucking slave. How dare he, when he- 

"Yessir."

Laughter echoes around the room and Jack drags himself into a sitting position, amused at the slave's comment. 

"Well, of course you do, little slave. In your position, I do think I would too. Why haven't you tried to escape yet, anyway?"

"This room is a p-prison, sir. The windows are locked, the door is locked and guarded."

Jack shrugs again. 

"Okay."

He falls silent and beckons to Alex, smirking. "Come on."

 

The boredom and the wait is driving him insane, Alex thinks. He's searched the room numerous times in the past week- trying to find weapons, anything, and only found one thing that interested him.

Well, technically two things. 

A scroll of papyrus. It's blank.

And a jar of ochre paints. 

He can't even imagine how rare these things are. He's never seen them before, not ever, but his mother used to tell stories before father scared her into staying quiet. 

Jack will punish him bad for this, he's sure. But he really doesn't care anymore.

He wasn't looking for a weapon to use it against his Master.

 

His Master comes into the chamber earlier than usual and Alex almost has a heart attack when he notices the man behind him. He's almost finished the stupid painting and he thinks privately that it's worth it, worth whatever comes next. Because his Master looks so, so angry and Jack's scared.

"What.. did you do...?!"

"I painted you wings. You said you wanted to escape."

 

The parchment is stained red. Jack sighs to himself. What a waste of a good scroll. Slaves can be ridiculous sometimes, really. Stupid.

"Can you get that out of here? It's going to start stinking soon."

Two servants rush to drag the body out of the room, keeping their eyes on the blood-soaked floor. Now that's what's supposed to be, he thinks. No fire. 

He laughs a little. 

Wasn't playing with fire supposed to get you burnt? It was such a shame, he thinks. He could do with some excitement. 

Alex didn't even put up a fight as Jack slit his throat.


End file.
